


The Totally Unreal Diary of a Fairy Mortician

by Be3



Series: The Fairy Mortician [1]
Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Bromance, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Be3/pseuds/Be3
Summary: In which Lucas can't sleep, helps people, and has trouble separating work and life....also, he's immortal.





	1. First name 'Dear', Second name 'Diary'

Standard disclaimer applies.

*******FOREVER*******

Dear Diary,

hi.

...

...

Um. I don't know how to say it, so, just, don't write me off as a loon right away, 'kay? Ha, you got that, 'write me off'! That was a pun.

My name is Lucas. Lucas Wahl. I'm an assistant medical examiner in New York City. It's a neat job, and keeps me out of the street – by day.

'Cause at night I turn into a tiny creature with wings and a silly wand and a bag that fits into my arms but so much larger on the inside, and I flit around, la-la-la, gathering people's teeth.

I know, right? Teeth. What a nutcase.

But it's not my fault, I've just...always been like this. A tooth fairy. I'm not a creep, I only take unattached ones. (Well, there was that one time, but the owner was choking to death, and nobody noticed, so. It was all right?)

It's a hard task here in New York. Much easier in a village – I was a dentist once, it was hilarious – or on a ship out in the sea. Especially now that scurvy is a rare exception. Workload aside, you can't escape getting to know the people if you sail together for months or years.

And...yeah. I'm old enough to have seen my share of it. Long story. At least I don't look my age.

Hey, gotta run. Bye.

*******FOREVER*******

Dear Diary,

today has been AWFUL. Got any gothic script? No? You sure you're a construct of my imagination? Okay, never mind.

I like working with dead bodies. Some guys can't stand to be near decomposing flesh, but I guess seeing a thousand cavities up close and personal gives one a thick skin. I'm okay with it. After all, bodies are teeth's homes, it stands to reason some are abusive, some are loving, and some pretty much slams.

Someday, I'll create a short film about what it means to live there (a true horror, multiple POVs, special effects). So here's what happened.

'Mr. Wahl?'

Oops. That was my new boss.

'Sorry, Doc, what were you saying?'

Boss ain't a real doctor, he's a medical examiner, but he's practised medicine before, and 'Doc' has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Anyway, cool guy, and an honest-to-God Brit. Fashion sense, accent, everything. Met him last Monday, got the impression he didn't notice I'm cool, too, but meh. Needs some weathering down.

'Your findings are very precise,' Doc said politely, looking down at my write-up for Mrs. Mary Grunning. Aww. 'I commend your attention to detail, although I should notice that since the deceased died of a heart attack, your final report didn't have to contain an overview of her chewing difficulties.'

And man, who but Mr. Washington washi-ed up and shared with Doc what he thought of me. Not only that (experience shows I can live with him disapproving my every minty breath), but he made it sound like the whole department only tolerated me because I had no other way to pay off my college debt. And I stood there and took it like a man. (No pictures, but it totally happened.)

Stupid busybody. Stupid college debt. I can want to be an ME! I know I used to.

Screw it, better go stain that liver samples again, they were clearly mislabelled last time.

Bye.

*******FOREVER*******

Really? I have an imaginary chronicle gathering dust in a corner of my mind, and I lose it for a year? How does it even work?

I mean, hi, Dear Diary, I promise I will do a better job of keeping you from now on. Sanity is overrated, anyway. And horror films are underrated. Gotta keep up the balance.

*******FOREVER*******

Dear Diary,

ibuprofen ibuprofen ibuprofen water – whew.

Everything hurts. Got a cold. Ever tried flying ill? Well, don't. And the finds tonight were simply indescribable. Breathe out, Lucas, it's over. It's over.

I think there's been a murder. I mean, when there's a whole lower mandible on the ground, freshly removed, and no other body parts beside it, murder ain't stretching imagination, it's constricting it. I would say a man, Caucasian, middle-aged, smoker, caffeine addict; his last meal was probably pizza and beer. Sad. And scary. But that's New York, baby. The tool used to remove the bone was sharp, but it was hacked out like, I dunno, a piece of rock. I left it where it was (and it might be gone by now) and tipped the police.

Had to employ my physics just to dial! Talk about dancing on a shoestring. At least I can be sure the officers won't be able to trace me. Hope they are doing something about it. Ugh, tired.

Will call in sick today. Let old Washie run the tests, if he still remembers what 'DNA' stands for.

Bye.

*******FOREVER*******

Dear Diary,

I am baaack! Hooray! Back and feeling like a perp – three pearls from little girls, ya know. Almost got splashed across a wind-shield, what with eyes squeezed shut to keep myself from peeking. And navigating by Fairy Sense is ! #$, it's good only for teeth-seeking.

Back at my day job, nobody mentioned a Mysterious Mandible. Figures. Should have gone for it myself, but then I would get fired for sure, Washie's no fun like that. At least the day was quiet, aside from Doc being suspected of killing a subway conductor (what?) and Detective Martinez coming down to our place (squee). Can I use dismemberment in my next creation, or would it be a Glaringly Obvious Evidence of my Involvement?

I wonder if Doc did that guy in. He never talks about stuff. Maybe he's a brownie, like, the real deal, one who calls the firemen, sorts mail, and destroys all fungal growth in the bathroom? If brownies exist, I mean. Ha! In your dreams, Wahl. Although it would still be great to be pals with someone living (no offence). Doesn't have to be supernatural. Anyway, gotta close up the incision, so bye.


	2. Face of adversity

A/N: sorry for possible mistakes about New York City. Never been there, outside of airport.

*******FOREVER*******

Dear Diary,

if I go out drinking only with you, am I'm drinking alone? Sure I like the intimacy, but, well, guys upstairs invite me sometimes. Like yesterday. Almost gave the game away – my watch stopped, and it's not like you can easily tell the time in a bar, so had to Cinderella it outta there. Close shave (eyebrow_wiggle). But no prince (sigh). I mean, princess.

Such a violent night. A basketball player caught the ball with his cheek (concussion, hospitalization); two boys argued (tipped a tarp onto them before it got to the point of sticking-sharp-things-into-each-other – bad idea, coulda got washed down under a bus – tsunami escape training?); and then slipped in the shower and braked with my chin. No fair. Okay, don't think I'll lose any premolars over it, but just in case, booked an appointment with one of my mortal priests (for 5 pm!) – I'd like an X-ray. And the swelling is a bother. Hot drink hurts!

But it won't kill me, will you, drink?

[censored]

… yeah, revenge is still best served cold (or not at all). Least I can do is drag myself over to the morgue. Hope Doc won't find any anomalies, like weird ridges on shoulder-blades – IDEK if I have any, but ya know, wings. Gotta be attached to something.

HURTS!

*******FOREVER*******

Dear Diary,

the day only grew worse (rivulets_of_bloody_tears).

First, felt every gust of wind – like invisible darts of agony (hey, that's an idea!) – so went back and added layers until my eyes were the lowest part of my face still visible (also the highest – my cap was a gag gift). Left behind watch, 'cause it's broken, and Metro card, 'cause I hadn't had my coffee.

Went back again, picked Metro card, spooked an old neighbour into calling the police (don't ask me how she managed to hold me off until they came). Explained everything, they agreed to 'keep it under wraps' (howl_of_rage) and gave me a lift to work, but then we got stuck in traffic for half an hour, and TOOTHACHE FROM HELL returned as we sat within hopping distance from a clinic.

And then Nina called to know when I would finally come to work. She doesn't like me. Why? I mean, she couldn't see me, and my face is usually pretty symmetrical, right? Note to self: ask somebody nice about face later.

At least Doc wasn't around when I came in. I could hardly expect him to take me seriously after this. Yes, I own a scarf, too, so what if it's bright orange.

Nina needed some forms signed, and she stared – I hate it when people stare! I wanted a lunch break! They leave me at peace for lunch break.

'Mr. Wahl?'

Arrrgh! Just go away! Go away!

'Good morning?'

Crap. Doc came back.

'What happened to your face?'

'Shlipped.'

He put on new gloves and tipped my head to the side. 'This is serious. When are you seeing a doctor?'

'Five,' I said. It was going to be an eternity. Sure, we'd have to have an apocalypse sometime before that, so the wait wasn't going to be all that terrible (some of it would be much worse). Maybe I'd get to see a zombie dentist, drilling holes right through the skull.

Although a zombie radiologist would have more character. Pictures of broken bones, faintly gleaming on dark sepia background, whine of machinery... there's something there, just needs some plot – Eureka! A love triangle, with a blonde anaesthesiologist as the fickle male lead.

'You really shouldn't leave it like that until five,' Doc remarked with a frown. Heh. Who knew he cared. 'This cut – have you sterilized it?'

'Mhmm.' The cut I barely felt, but it was possible that infection could set in that way. Especially in a morgue. Especially if a mask didn't cover it all.

Hallo, sepsis, I thought, feeling light-headed. It's a horrible thing, I've seen it lots of times, died of it, too, it's painful as can be –

'Mr. Wahl? Lucas! Will eleven o'clock be convenient?'

Convenient for what? I swallowed. Be calm. Breathe in and out. Like a little daisy bravely sticking out of green undead sludge. (Wow, I should whack myself on the head more often, the imagery is all kinds of right.) Yeah. So. I was sitting at my table...and where was Doc?

'Yes, thank you. Sorry for the trouble. Thank you.'

Doc put his phone down and came out of his office, holding a piece of paper. 'This is the address; Detective Martinez kindly agreed to give you a ride, so do not let her wait. Take the rest of the day off, if you wish. Good luck.'

So I guess I'll close this entry here – things started looking up.

*******FOREVER*******

Dear Diary,

and they continued looking up! Literally as well as figuratively, but at least my jaw is whole. D. M. was very professional, no staring, no small talk, just found a jazz station and hummed along. Inside, it was surreal, no queue, no harsh lights, and the receptionist was like, 'Mr. Wahl?' and waved me in. Wonder what Doc told them. Cost a pretty buck, but it was worth it. They even called me a taxi (speaking uncomfortable, & I hope I won't have to fly tonight, even 2D is a chore). If it's a dream, I'm not waking any time soon.

When did people became so, for the lack of a better word, normal? No, scratch that, I don't wanna your input.

Okay, I'm home. Message D. M. I'm alive... Done.

Off to Wonderland! Bed, bed, beeed.

(Feels like there's something I shoulda noticed – no idea what. Meh. Can't be that important.)

*******FOREVER*******

Dear Diary,

so it's 9 pm, and I'm well enough to watch a movie. Nights like this, I wonder what's the point of my curse. Am I doomed to collect data on stomatal hygiene through the ages? Seems kinda pointless.

Better rig a system to turn the TV off for when I stop sniffling, probably won't happen until midnight.

Still, there was something nice about today. Worthwhile. I just have to remember what it was.


	3. Predator

*******FOREVER*******

Dear Diary,

yeeehaw! I can talk again! Or lisp (& cackle, slurp and whistle – 'I'm absolutely sorted!').

And drown. Downloaded instructions for soup-puree, multiplied instead of dividing, maybe added, too – got enough for a platoon of toddlers. It doesn't keep, and time's ticking, gotta run. Aha! I'll share it. With everybody, so Doc can pretend I'm not thanking him for help. Maybe take a plate over to the lady who ratted me out yesterday – swinging mops takes energy.

Swelling's gone, so don't need the scarf anymore. (I'll buy a new one, in darker, distinguished colours, blues, greys and browns. To bring out my eyes. What? Man has a right to fashion, I'm not talking three-piece suits here.) Keys, wallet, phone, charger, wand.

WAND! It didn't disappear at sunrise! Why? I stayed home, yes, but I've done it before. Something glitched. At least it's not the Hoard erupting out of nowhere in waves of cracked enamel. Ooh, 'Flood o' Teeth'; I have to film that one.

Not that I'm superstitious, but...glitching is bad luck. No choice, have to take it with me.

*******FOREVER*******

Dear Diary,

no, you guessed wrong! Things are OK. The cistern will be so much lighter to bring back. Lady-next-door's got a DOG! kind of dog & is a bit hard of hearing; will have to wipe the door clean-er (sigh), but no clothes to wash.

D. M. sent me a picture of her partner realizing he's drinking soup and not capuccino. Not what I'd had in mind, but dirt on Hanson is – dirt on Hanson.

Greg insisted on me having a slice of his lemon, since I gave him food (untranslatable_Russian_idioms). At least I can now say I partook of The Superfruit.

Nina grilled me on chromosome counts. She has dozens and likes to spring a pop-quiz on her fellow man – me, always me – when the wind turns (= haven't cracked the pattern yet). Threw me for a loop, until I figured out it was a rat's cell and not a human's. The woman has feelings for me, and they are Not. Love.

Overall, quiet day, Chief went overseas for annual something, Doc 'inquired' (okay, 'asked', but it's the voice, really) about my health, called me 'Lucas', too. Weaselled his way out of having lunch with us (nothing new here). Someone called when he was out, didn't say what he wanted. Felt personal, ya know? And, um, I know I shouldn't have, but Doc is a clam about personal stuff, so, I kinda asked a couple questions, nothing too invasive. Guy seemed amused, but no luck. Promised he'd be in touch (shrug).

Keep fingering the wand in my pocket, but it's inert as a pin. No strange whisspersss, my preciouss.

Okay, cleaning up, bye.

*******FOREVER*******

Dear Diary,

home sweet home. Tired. Washed the door (installed for free: saliva and scratch marks). Still not 100% over the Shower. Will order something Greek (Thai too spicy right now) and catch a few winks before party time. Wanted to edit my latest creation, but 'power's cut and lights are out' – shoulda stayed home, work'd still be there tomorr...

*******FOREVER*******

[yawn]

Dear Diary,

so, left tool of trade in my scrubs' pocket, and can't pack the goods away without it. Not the end of the world. Probably. I've had it worse. Stupid.

On the plus side, I'm out in the city, and Sensed something odd. Like a – well, a loose tooth, only it's zigzagging, circling, spinning, jumping and swinging back and forth. Can't miss this one! Accelerating... Braking... Ignore that sound – wet windowpanes are wet...

Oh. OH. It's a trap. I barely escaped it. If I had a wand with me, I'd never have stopped in time! Some kid stuck his tooth to a piece of gum (or did he spit it out like that?), and his cat's playing with it.

And now it's looking at me, and it knows what it wants.

Cats can see me when I'm like this. Dunno why. Ships' cats, they are the worst – merciless, lean, mangy beasts. But I am safe, there's glass between us.

What? It's going to ju –

*******FOREVER*******

Dear Diary,

remind me, if I ever mislay my wand again, what 'bad luck' stands for.

I'm home. Made it on autopilot. Drinking alone (with you) at four in the morning. A bead of wine – I always leave it on the table, for such occasions.

It jumped. Heavens above, it jumped.

And the window didn't break, it swung open – sweeping me aside like a fly, out of harm's way and into the mere brick.

I... think I need to stop being a tooth fairy. Please. No more.

Gotta crawl into bed while I still can.

Bye.

*******FOREVER*******

Dear Diary,

sorry for the drama last night. I get antsy, stressful job, you know how it is. Gotta keep it together.

Until my wand disappears as it should, I'll just have to take fewer risks. No cooking. No solving mysteries of pendular teeth. Keep it secret, keep it safe, eh? Don't lose track of the little things.

Okay, commute survived, check.

Questioned by Internal Affairs about a man's arm mysteriously appearing on a slab during the night, check.

I mean, how?! What?! When?! Which arm?! Day gone to hell, check.

Got free at last, joined the rest. Everybody was rattled, although some covered it better than others. We gathered in a break room two stories above our own, while a team from New Jersey went over our workplace. Crap, when Washie returns from Amsterdam, heads are going to roll. Mine, too. Got a stash of Soul Slasher in my locker.

Nina thrust a sandwich at me, and Dr. Walker poured me some tea.

'It bore rather peculiar indentations,' Doc said absently. He probably came in first, saw the thing, and had us locked out. 'Claw marks... and there was a hair.' He mimed picking it up with pincers and transferring it to a clear plastic bag, although of course, he couldn't have actually touched it.

'Feline?' Everybody turned to look at me.

So I'd been primed, sue me.

Doc looked surprised. 'Perhaps, but going by the distance between them, it was some cat. I would say, nothing smaller than a panther.'

Don't lose track of the little things until they lose track of you.

'So you think this man went to the zoo and got eaten?' Now who would do that? And why dump the evidence before the police?

'Unless it was a privately owned animal, or an escaped one, or even one roaming freely in the wild – we cannot rule that out,' he shrugged. 'I bet there are no clear prints on the skin, but we can look for pollen grains – that is, the New Jersey people can; it might show whether this happened indoors or not. Also, we don't know if he was eaten.'

'Predators,' Greg pointed out. 'They can be...hungry.'

'True,' Doc agreed, with a faraway look. 'I wonder how it happened, though.'

And so do I, Diary, so do I.


	4. Brewing trouble

*********FOREVER*********

 

Dear Diary,

nothing conclusive about the mangled arm. No work accomplished (but I got my tool back, at last.) Went home early.

And there was a fire in my house while I was twiddling my thumbs. Flat below mine. Something shorted out, and there you are.

No casualties, well, maybe some houseplants, but nothing too awful. (Only the smell.) Owner was out shopping. Girl's in shock, swears she always turns everything off. Don't tell anyone, but I guess she did. I...think it has to do with me. With that chewing toy. That this fire was my last warning, and now the hunt is on.

 _Give me some advice_. Please. I don't know! What's a mental notebook for, if not extra thinking power? Is this because of the glitch? But I've had several before, it's never this bad. Need a plan here! I'm jumping at shadows.

There are lots.

And I'm weaponless. Unless you count a cardboard katana. No? Thought so.

 

*********FOREVER*********

 

DD (for short),

bought a pepper spray, an Army knife and a flashlight. Go me. Won't be of any use. I've no idea of self-defence. Please, there has to be something I can do. Someone I can ask for help. Not a relative, natch, not a friend... _what_ friend? Maybe rent a hotel room? No, too many strangers, **suspects** , can't bear it. And when the night comes, how would I explain myself if anyone tries to contact me?

Nauseous. Gotta clean the cobwebs. Gotta _leave_ the _house_ , once more.

Bye.

Was nice to know you.

 

*********FOREVER*********

 

DD,

so I chickened out. Still sitting by the door with my arsenal. Drinking. Beer. Best alcohol format ever.

Maybe I'm just, ha ha, bit not right in the head? Like, my perspective shifted left of unbiased judgement? Who cares about coincidencies, there are so many people in the world, shit happens, pure chance, no rhyme or reason, right?

And I can unclench my fingers from this stupid knife? One by one does it. Here. And then make myself dinner... rest... go out collecting.

Only I have run into some, what to call them, fruitful situations – been shoved into a wall or two for money or, y'know, companionship I didn't want – I _escaped_ , it was _all right_ , honestly, but, but there was just this feeling. Like 'I'm great! Let's have coffee!' is, like, a role, and 'I'm so screwed! Let's go with whiskey!' is another role, and there's nothing I can actually _do_ that isn't a script to follow. I want there to be something that doesn't leave a 'smile and wave' aftertaste.

Seems like I need something totally out of the left field. Like, something I've never tried before.

Oh, wait, gotta answer my phone.

...

That was Greg. We're cleared to go to work tomorrow. What fun! Here's hoping I am still kicking at 9 am. Wonder what they will tell Doc if I'm not in? Maybe I should just talk to him, say my goodbyes. Doc's not a bad sort, he'll pass them on to everybody, better than I would. Yep. Great start! And then we can get on with plotting.

...

Wow. Doc's picking me up in twenty. Guy really hates technology, if he can't stand five minutes on the phone! So, where were we... alliterating...

 

*********FOREVER*********

 

DD,

Doc really can't let me have the last word. Even _my_ _own_ last word. Whatever.

He made it in fifteen, so I kinda was still in the bathroom when he nearly broke down my door. He and an old friend of his, Abe, who apparently lives to do imaginative things to traffic laws.

Almost gave me a heart attack, these two.

Almost pumped my stomach, too. No way, I like my beer inside.

Long story short, I was disarmed, scarved, capped & invited for dinner.  (Is that British for something?)  Tried to explain why this is a rotten idea, but they  flat out refused to listen.  Out of the way!  Henry  Morgan's on a mission!

BTW, Doc's looking scared, for some reason. Poor bastard. What's to be scared about? When I'm out of his hair, everything's going to be peachy.

Anyways, sorry, feeling a bit carsick. Abe musta been a racer, in his day. (Today he's just an antique dealer with a death wish. Going out with style.)

See you.

 

 

A/N: shorter chapter this time, but the next one will have Lucas explaining his situation to Henry and Abe. Poor Lucas. _I'_ m already intimidated.


	5. Drinking Trouble

*********FOREVER*********

 

[headdesk]

Hey DD,

guess what, boss got the wrong idea that I'm a danger to myself (spontaneous_combustion_waits_for_no_man). Be a pal, pretend this whole page is IN CAPITALS and don't save the changes.

[crossed out text] in case alien overlords are reading you in real time. Wow. I can think in crossed-out.

Explained things during the ride (3 cheers for movie-making experience! Trains one to make up simple plausible backstories on the fly – word's 'parsimonious', m'dear), so expect the car to turn back any minute now.

…

Uh-huh, Lucas, in your dreams.

We did go to their place (they are trade partners). Weird old shop. Any other time I'd be over the moon, but come on, why tonight?

Clock's ticking, stars are coming out like nobody's business, doom's falling on Tinuviel somewhere in the multiverse, and Henry Morgan is treating me to pasta & salad (fit for gods) & trying to overcome his natural tendencies re: my talking. Which is, sure, sweet, but he's gotta brush up on his conversation starters someday. Respect this Abe guy, nerves of steel and unshakable appetite.

(Boss: 'So, the latest misadventure with the mauled appendage appearing out of nowhere was rather unexpected, but you must admit, blood and carnage are not unheard of in a morgue – '

Abe guy: 'Henry.'

Boss: 'Ah yes, well. Please have more lasagna. Souse?'

So, a dinner-with-Doc from Hell, although Doc & dinner are both cool.

Can't wait for it to end.

 

*********FOREVER*********

 

DD,

and I waited not in vain. There's wine! And what wine! (Seems like white?) I rarely buy it myself, can't imagine why, really... Expensive, so what? What isn't? That was _some_ old bottle, just what the doctor ordered. He's generous, isn't he? Henry, you generous old dog, you. No, that's my inner monologue, I'm recording it on a roll of paper, there in my hea-d. _Hic_. Handy stuff, never forget a thing. What? _Hic_. C'n I call you Henry in my head? _Hic_. Today's nothing, days are nothing, it's nights that are trouble. And cats. _Hic_. Cats are worse, Doc, it almost got me yesterday, lousy job, lousy teeth, coulda just _hic_ , and nobody would shed a tear. Oh, nice couch, I'll just – a moment, _hic_? Wake me up by midnight, gotta fly tonight, backlog's a _hi_ -tch, thanks for the water, Kirk out, bye, mmm.

 

*********FOREVER*********

 

DD,

ow ow oww what the oww happened to my head?

I mean, good news, I'm undeniably alive, but where _am_ I? Looks like a storage room in a theater – no, too classy. Where are my kick-starting superpowers when I need them?

Movement detected. Voices, growing nearer...

Crap, gotta run –

…

My head!

…

Busted.

Crashed and burned, then rolled into asphalt. You thought yesterday was bad? Look at this mess!

First, I'm at Henry's place (wicked), and he's seen me transform (horrible; but the wand is back in hammerspace). There, and back again, like Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Shire. No words, man.

Second, he's making me drink some kind of _**SUSPICIOUS G**_ _ **REEN SLUDGE**_ , and here I might grope my way to authentic expression.

'I can explain!'

Famous last words. Mind-expanding substances are out, he's gotta know a ton about them, and I, like, nil, but what else? Space spores?..

'Hush,' says Henry quietly. 'Take a minute, I called in to say we will be late. If you want a shower,' and one can tell this is not an idle observation, 'here is your towel.'

Only. Henry.

 

*********FOREVER*********

 

DD,

you never know with the English, but I think they believe me. Both. (Is Abe English? Anyway, Henry was, like, oh, you're a fairy, charmed, I'm sure, pass the salt.) By time the toasts sprang up, _I_ had a million questions, and he was _smirking_.

'So, it's not going to, you know, change anything in our hardwon breathtaking boss-employee dynamics?'

'Our what?'

Ouch.

Abe seemed kinda grouchy, maybe he's a lightweight like me, unlike Dr. Perfect. Well, lesson learned: no drinking with Henry Morgan. No drinking...and no anything, right?

After all, I'm same old Lucas, The Cleaning One. I've shared my secret before; this is better than some people's reactions.

I. Hate. Nets.

'Hey kiddo?' says Abe. ('I'm several times older than you.' – *pat on the back*.) Henry's very kind to him, there's gotta be some history between them; but Henry isn't looking him in the eye.

'Yeah?'

'About yesterday. You were pretty upset.'

 _Upset_. 'So I overreacted, big deal.'

'Right-o. Feel like overreacting again, just come here, will ya?'

'Er.' Come on? My boss lives here?

'Henry? You wanna add something?'

I turn to Doc, and Doc says,

'Welcome.'


	6. Sharing trouble

*******FOREVER*******

DD,

where do I start? NO MURDER. As in, 'cheer up, they found the rest of the body, man died days ago in a hospital, long history of heart issues, no evidence of foul play', so we might not have a man-hunting panther in New York (only a man-eating one).

The catch is that the body had been worked by the New Jersey people who were called in yesterday – autopsied and prepared for a funeral home. Kinda throws a shadow on their findings. Lieu's breathing plasma.

DD, I'm scared. There's someone out there who can bypass security in two heavily protected places (or more?) in short succession, has access to a man-eating panther, no respect for human grief, & breaks into a morgue (get it, not just a police station, a morgue) for no obvious reason. Unless that obvious reason is to make me shake in my boots. Just saying. Never had personal enemies, dunno what to do with them!

Henry's been strange, too. I'm supernatural, he's totally on board; and now, someone calls his office, he's all white. Family emergency? Abe?..

'Doc, you OK? Need a minute?'

'Lucas,' on an exhale. 'Come in and close the door. Have you...answered any of my calls recently?'

Something tells me to stop here.

*******FOREVER*******

DD.

Henry Morgan has a stalker. A real nutcase.

And he doesn't want me to tell anybody.

Even though this guy might go after me. Or, ya know, Nina or Greg. Doc doesn't believe he would. Screw him, what is he even thinking, guy's crazy, we're furniture to him, he won't blink at putting Dr. Walker on the slab all chilled and pickled.

Told Henry he's playing with lives. Almost put in my notice (= almost got fired), but if anybody can make a drop of difference, it's gotta be me. I'm the oldest.

Still no idea what to do with an enemy, though. Maybe Det. Martinez would know.

...

Talked with DM. She summoned Doc. He tried to play it off, and might have (what proof I have, after all), but caved in the end – she's that good.

So DM went to Lieu, and we're waiting for them in a conference room.

Guess this is it, huh? Henry's going to bury me in a flowerpot when we're done.

...

[sailor_speak.]

Where's my flowerpot. I earned it. I want it!

I don't wanna anything with WITSEC. Or any sort of protective custody. No, Henry's not a threat – he looks like he just gave up on us and has an idea that he won't share with the class. It's as if... he doesn't believe going to authorities is gonna help, and just wants a quiet moment to change into his superhero uniform.

Henry's usually right, isn't he? Hey, maybe his suits are more than meets the eye. Watch of Bending Time, Scarf of Sedu – I mean, Serendipity, and yes, that would be all, thankyouverymuch. That'd be my favorite series: Henry Morgan and the Twenty-First Century... Gotta work on the name, but not right now, because CRAZY STALKER OUT THERE GUYS.

& the others are scared. Not the cops (or they don't show it), but Nina's talking the ear off of some poor sarge, 'cause her 12 y.o. niece is visiting, and shit, how did I forget people have relatives? Henry can be so stupid sometimes.

*******FOREVER*******

DD,

things getting hot – hot – hotter. Doc disappeared. As in, went alone after the nutzo when everybody was looking another way. DM had a BOLO on him out before I could ask her if Henry was bringing her a donut and could I please have one, too, and disappeared right after him. At least Detective Hanson, disappearing after Detective Martinez, had the decency to get himself tracked by the techs, so we'll have a way to find them all when the bullets start flying (or after).

Lieu gathered us netherworlders in her office (I think my hair's grown much greyer now); apparently, her boss saw 'no legitimate threat that would make us afraid for our lives', and wanted 'the whole circus closed'.

I, er, said words that surprized her.

Then she agreed. With some pretty surprizing words of her own.

Nina's niece was collected by a uniformed officer and sent home to parents in a car full of cops, and she herself was sedated (she begged not to be sent to her sister's, in case that would draw more 'attention' to the place. I thought Nina Blake was, like, constitutionally incapable of begging). Dr. Walker volunteered to look after her. Greg just shrugged it all off (his lady scares him more than some unknown guy who'd 'only dismembered a dead man'). I think he wants the Most Perfect Victim of the Year (posthumous) award, but then again, Greg's always been too trusting of the powers that be.

So Dr. Walker up and decked him, and Lieu held me back from interfering.

Greg stood up (on his second try) and kinda attacked Walker with his whole body, in a really non-lethal manner.

Then Lieu had them both for assault, shook hands with our dear old surgeon, ordered pizza with anchovies (Walker) and mushrooms (Greg) and sent them to kick back in Nina's undemanding company in One of Her Cells.

Which left only little me in her Room of Doom.

I: 'Er.'

She: 'Indeed.'

I: 'I have places to be tonight?'

She, in dead earnest: 'Will you be able to defend yourself?'

I: 'Yes?'

She: 'I will leave my window open. Here's the address. Third story.'

I: gulp.

She: 'We'll have to chat, one of these days, but now is not the time.'

I: '...Thank you.'

She: wink.

So... three people know what I am. 'Course one is Henry, he of the English disposition, one is Abe, who drinks tea from cups older than his grandmother, and one is Lieutenant Joanna Reece, but still, shouldn't I be a tiny bit worried? Planning a journey round the world? Or going to ground in Idaho?

Huh. I'm not.

Unexplainable.


	7. Troubling trouble

*******FOREVER*******

DD,

how does life under threat seem so normal?

I mean, I'm as unfit to fight as they go, and there's someone out there who might wish me the illest ill, but at least it's not Fate. I will die, rise again, find a new place... it's gonna be OK. Maybe there will be some other victims, and it's unpleasant, but that's life, right? I'm not their keeper or anything. Immortal, yes, in a way. It doesn't put me in charge.

I'm the diametrically-opposed thing, not-responsible. The Lucas Wahl thing.

So I can fly away tonight, once I'm out. That's the rule. Fly away.

And never look back.

Or forward. Forward and a little up, where Hanson's green dot twinkles on the screen. It has two little dots in school and one smoking hot dot home – baking, I think, or maybe washing? Hanson's gonna twinkle right to Jo and Henry any minute now and they're all gonna come back to the station, laughing like crazy, but this waiting is hell on my nerves, like I'll blink and it'll go out.

Oh no I wanna blink I can't blink please no –

Wait.

It's out.

*******FOREVER*******

Evening, DD.

Everything's still bad, no ransom notes, no trace of anyone, including the stalker, and yes I'm still here.

I love New York?

But at least I'll be loaded. Literally, packed into Abe's holster. Yay unpredictability. I will have to do. All the king's horses and all the king's men are out of their depth [this side of the pond]. Although can't say that about Lieu, her being a lady and everything. 'Sides, it was her idea, to make use of my special talents.

Abe's got a holster. And, you know, the filling. Also, he shoots like a vet – at once and with finality. I just hope he won't forget and pull the trigger on me, because eww.

Lieu watches us from afar, like an angel of wrath. The plan is that the guy will call Henry's flatmate with his DEMANDS, and we will converge on him like a company of three differently trained people who's never had cause to work together.

Well, there's gonna be all these policemen which will do some converging of their own, but I don't believe it will help. Can't even tell why. Just a feeling.

Although, if I were in that guy's shoes, I would not call anybody. It seemed something personal, from Henry's words. Not something you settle with money.

I'm wrong, ain't I?

*******FOREVER*******

DD,

1 am, all quiet in Baghdad.

Abe's read about some auction, drunk a cocktail, played the piano. And he's the mortal one. Lieu is with us, in spirit (almost tangible). I tried to meditate, but failed. Henry's got a very neat skull, young female, presumably for learning purposes, but those incisors are calling to me, mate.

Maybe I can grab them when nobody's looking.

No, not tonight, I've got some self-restraint.

Mmm, better not think about it, though.

...2 am, same old.

…3 am...

*******FOREVER*******

DD,

much disoriented waking up in a moving padded room. Expected that? Me neither. Which means at least it's probably not the apocalypse.

And it's not a room, it's the holster! Whose brilliant idea – right – forget I asked that.

Unbearably hot, and the smell of soap and sweat wafts down to me from the pumping armpit above. Abe's heartbeat is strong and fast, and there's the sharp swoosh of fabric on leather. He's running. Besides that, all sound is muted – I'm inside a coat.

But where is he running to? I can't see! Drat. And the thing sways like a mast in storm, ow, my knees, I haven't appreciated you enough. But I will. I already am...

Ouch! [sideways_gravity_effects] musta been us going down. Holster still scraping the lining, so – alive. Good.

Only dark, hot, quiet, and not moving forward. Not good.

Timing Abe's breathing, I'd say he's not critically wounded, just calming down after a sprint; but what stopped him? Is he leaning over a body? Or hiding in shadows from an unseen sniper?..

And what is this? Fresh air! Thoughtful of him, but why undress in the middle of pursuit?

CLANK.

Either Abe became one with the tarmac, or he's just put me away.

Time to crawl out into the unknown.

*******FOREVER*******

DD,

the unknown is scary. Remember it. It is scary not because we don't know it yet, but because ALL POWERS OF THE UNIVERSE CONSPIRE TO MAKE MY LIFE WORSE THAN A MOMENT AGO, and ok, fine, no more caps lock, but in all confidentiality, the unknown sucks.

Because Abe's gone.

We were hiding, apparently, but a man put a gun to his head, with force and disturbing precision, and felled our vet like a tree. I mean, like a pro. And then the guy searched him, found the bugs and stuck them to a wall, and is currently stuffing the old man into his truck.

At least he didn't see me. Yet. I have an ace up my sleeve (although it's got downsides. Fractal downsides, with 'down' being everywhere at once.) I can stuff the bugs into my bag and follow them, boldly go after Abe and the stalker.

The problem is – I won't be able to take them out again. No mechanism for that. Never came up.

I can't jeopardize my future! What if somebody ever catches the signal? They're pretty long-lived.

But Abe. And Henry, and Jo, and Mike.

But they might be dead! Oops, didn't want to think that, sorry.

But justice.

But safety?..

…

…

Tell me, when I ask, that this was the moment it all went south, and I alone am to blame.


End file.
